I Just Can't Live A Lie
by rusty-tiffany
Summary: spoilers for 2x07 never been kissed. after Karofsky's secret is revealed, Quinn wonders why she's still hiding. rated R for language. mentions femslash and slash. oneshot.


**Title:**I Just Can't Live A Lie  
**Rating:** R, for language  
**Word Count:** 648  
**Disclaimer:** i own nothing. title from Carrie Underwood, characters from ryan murphy and co.  
**Spoilers****:** 2x07, Never Been Kissed  
**A/N:** i was pissed, this happened. it was literally written in a half hour, so excuse any spelling/grammar errors. this was written without seeing the episode, just seeing clips and hearing spoilers.

* * *

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, hating the person who stared back at you. She's a coward hiding behind that fucking uniform instead of being herself and doing what she really wanted to do. You know that's you, you just wish it weren't. For weeks, months, (and if you were honest, years), all you've wanted to do is exactly what that fuckhead Karofsky finally did. Get over himself and admit he's a huge fucking homo. You've known for years, you recognized a lot of yourself in him. You hated being compared to him, even if you were the only one who made the connection. You were actually kind of proud of him for manning up and just kissing Kurt; apparently he had more balls than you had. Who'd have guessed it.

And now his secret's out. All his years of aggression and torture of other students is suddenly forgiven (which you still think is bullshit, regardless of the reasons behind it), just cause he finally admitted he's gay. He managed to do it, with his letterman jacket and all, so why the hell can't you?

Why can't you just grab her by her stupid soft-looking shiny dark hair and pull her toward you, crashing your lips against hers in a kiss that would explain everything that's happened between you since the beginning of high school? What is so hard about tearing that stupid argyle sweater off of her perfect body and ravaging her against the piano in the choir room, or on a bench in the locker room, or under the bleachers…

It's not like anyone would see it coming. Just like with Karofsky, people would be shocked that someone popular like you could possibly be _gay_. Especially you. The perfect Christian girl. The head Cheerio. Sure, you got knocked up last year, but now you spoke out in favor of abstinence education and against premarital sex. It was all just words, you didn't believe any of what you said, but no one had to know that. No one had to know that sex was all you thought about, particularly sex with a short brunette diva.

You looked in the mirror again, rage burning in your eyes. You tore off the top of your uniform and threw it aimlessly behind you. You hated that thing. It turned you into someone you didn't like, someone you barely recognized. Yes, you were the Head Bitch In Charge, but that wasn't really who you were. It was that fucking uniform that did it to you. It was like possessed or something. You hated the person you were when you wore it, and you especially hated how you treated her. You loved her, you loved her so much, and all you did was hurt her, over and over again. There was no reason she should ever even give you the time of day, never mind try again and again to be your friend, something you both knew you didn't deserve.

You couldn't take it anymore, you clenched your fist and punched the mirror, shattering your reflection. Your hand was cut and bleeding a little, but you didn't care. You barely felt it. This was it, the last straw. You couldn't lie anymore. If fucking Dave Karofsky could do it, so could you. Tomorrow morning when you get to school (_not_ dressed in that stupid Cheerios uniform), you were just going to walk up to her and kiss her. You anticipate one of two reactions: one, she slaps you and storms off, or two, she kisses you back. You figure you deserve the first one, so you wouldn't be that surprised if that's what happens, though you would much prefer the second. You take a deep breath and look at the cracked mirror at your reflection.

For the first time in years, you don't hate the girl looking back at you.


End file.
